


A Rather Unusual Winter Holiday

by S_G_M



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Children, Christmas, Cold, Dead kids, Death, Gen, Holidays, Kids, Murder, Santa Claus - Freeform, Shopping, Winter, legend, mall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a number of children have mysteriously begun dying of undetermined causes; Sam and Dean investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rather Unusual Winter Holiday

A small boy of perhaps two sat snugly in his mother's arms, as his father pushed his younger brother in a stroller.

The mall was overcrowded, which was what any shopper might expect in the middle of December.

"Ho, ho, ho!" False, holiday laughter assaulted those in the immediate area of a rotund man in a cheap Santa Claus suit.

The older child perked up and pointed at the Santa, a smile on his cherubic face.

The father glanced at the long line and then at his watch, sighing.

"Oh, come on, Stan." The wife said, not thrilled at the idea of waiting in line either. "We haven't got any pictures of the boys with Santa yet, and Joey wants to visit."

She adjusted the child in her arms, who was still staring widely at the man who was now handing a candy cane to a girl with long auburn braids.

Stan bit back a response which would have pointed out that Joey would doubtless forget about any encounter with 'Santa Claus' perhaps five minutes the visit.

"Fine." He relented tiredly, wanting nothing more than to be curled up with a good book as he lay comfortably in bed. 

They had just spent a full two hours over dinner at the Taco Shack with Edna's parents, the conversation frequently lulling as it swung from inane subject to inane subject, punctuated with Edna's mother popping out her dentures and licking them clean when something got stuck uncomfortably to them.

Edna leaned down slightly to kiss her shorter husband. "Thanks, sweetie." She told him softly, knowing how much he'd suffered during their evening meal. "How about I wait with the kids, and you go grab a pint at the Fox and Vole?"

Stan brightened a little at this.

"Go on, then." She encouraged lovingly, and he thanked her before giving her a smile and heading off.

 

The wait was a good half hour, and when their turn arrived at last, Joey had enjoyed the first thirty seconds or so, until it came time for the photo to be taken.

At that point, the boy had begun to sob profusely, triggering his brother to join him in loud, snotty tears.

Edna covered her face with her hands before taking a breath, plastering a massive grin on her face, and doing her best to get her sons to cheer up so that the photo could be taken.

She needn't have bothered; just as she had curled her lips into that big plastic smile, Santa had merely looked at the children with a distinct twinkle in his eyes and put a single finger to his lips and they had instantly quieted down.

Edna blinked in surprise, as a strange yet happy sort of peace coursed through the boys.

The photographer hadn't needed to even use the pink bunny toy to prompt a smile from either of them, as they both looked incredibly serene.

The photos were taken, and Edna collected her sons, thanking the mall Santa.

She was about to leave, when she turned back.

"I'm sorry, I just have to ask..." She began, as a jolly mentally ill man pranced up to ask for a kitten. "How did you do that, how did you get the boys to calm down like that?"

The man's eyes squinched up as he grinned. "Ho, ho, ho!" He boomed. "Why, I'm Santa Claus!"

Edna suddenly felt a chill run along her spine like a horde of tiny spiders.

She made herself smile at him, wondering why this man was suddenly giving her the creeps.

"Well, Santa, thank-you." She gave him a nod. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." He returned jovially, as Edna sat her youngest back in the stroller and she headed off to find her husband with Joey on her right hip.

 

 

"You're awfully quiet tonight." Stan remarked, the silence beginning to grate.

The boys had fallen asleep, and his wife hadn't said more than a dozen or so words since getting into their purple '76 Dodge Charger.

Edna shrugged. "Oh, I'm just tired is all." She lied, still feeling unsettled somehow.

Stan frowned.

That wasn't like his wife at all, but he knew better than to push. If she wanted to talk, then she would.

It would be another three and a half hours until they would reach the farm.

"How's about we stop for ice cream at Messy Moe's?" He suggested, the tacky neon sign cropping up in the distance.

Edna looked in the backseat.

"Honey, the boys are fast asleep, we can't wake them up for that after such a long day." She answered. 

The trips into the city were hard on the kids, though they didn't have anyone near home that could watch them.

"All right, I'll go in and grab some for just you and I, while you wait in the car." Stan replied, really wanting a chocolate cone.

Edna relented; after all, she never turned down ice cream and if she did now then Stan would fret.

"Strawberry maple ripple, waffle cone." She ordered, and the corner of Stan's mouth twitched up.

He'd had a hunch that ice cream would be the right thing to offer.

 

 

The rest of the trip was as quiet as the first bit, and once the still unconscious boys had been tucked into their beds safe and sound, Stan and Edna headed up to their room for a much needed night's sleep.

It took Edna a while longer before she could get to sleep, before she managed to convince herself that it was nothing but nerves from the doctor's visit that they'd come into the city for.

She had been diagnosed with a mass in her left kidney that morning, and with all sorts of health issues including cancer running in both sides of the family, Edna was reasonably stressed.

 

Joey quietly stared at the shadows playing on his wall as the fourth hour of the seventeenth of December drew to a close.

A tall figure silently made its way over to Joey's crib, a more intense pleasant sensation washing over the tot as it came closer.

The lush scent of pine, peppermint, and fresh winter snow filled the room.

Becoming excited, Joey gave a thrilled laugh, before the figure made one swift move and the boy's life force was whisked from its fleshy container and absorbed by the intruder.

The baby, still asleep, now caught the tall creature's attention.

It crept to perform the same little trick on him, the small tummy rising and falling with each breath.

Once the deed had been done, there was merely the soft tinkling sound of a bell as the being vanished.

 

 

"Are you kidding me?" Dean demanded in annoyance from the teenage boy with nipple-length pink and yellow hair behind the restaurant till.

He and Sam had been on the road for most of the day, and things hadn't been running so hot lately; Baby had broken down in some dingy little village in the middle of nowhere and the part that he'd needed couldn't be brought in for two days, the skinchanger they'd been hunting had managed to get away when they'd been so close to closing in, and now the restaurant had sold the last piece of pie in the place only minutes before Dean had asked for some.

"Yeah, because that's the highlight of my day... Fooling customers into thinking we're out of menu items." The employee snarked back, hating his job even more than his atrociously dull calculus professor that spoke in nothing but an insufferable monotone.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, right, well, thanks a lot." He said, paying for the less than mediocre meals that he and Sam had eaten.

The swiftly flashing lights nestled amongst an overly abundant amount of golden tinsel garland was beginning to give Sam a migraine.

He headed out of the restaurant, Dean right behind him.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked Sam, frowning as he noted the pale tinge to his younger brother's skin.

"I'll be fine." Sam answered, getting into the Impala.

"You'll 'be fine'? Come on, Sammy, spill it." Dean said firmly, opening the driver's door and joining Sam in the car.

Sam hadn't been at his best lately, his nightmares having returned with terrible vividness.

The odd vision had also been punctuating Sam's life once again, causing Dean to worry even more than usual.

"Look, those lights back in the restaurant were giving me a headache, all right?" Sam snapped, getting fed up with Dean's overprotective behaviour. "You want to take it down a notch?"

Dean let out a breath, knowing Sam was right.

"I... Yeah, okay." He agreed, feeling a little embarrassed.

He started the Impala, and headed back onto the highway to Minneapolis; a string of dead children had popped up in the area quite recently, and according to the papers, there was seemingly no cause of death.

Sam frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt for getting so annoyed with Dean. After all, it was coming from a good place.

"Sorry." He half-mumbled, letting out a sigh.

"Don't worry about it." Dean replied a touch dryly, turning on the tunes and putting his foot down a bit more on the accellorator.

 

It wasn't much of an eventful rest of the trip; the boys didn't talk all that much, and other than a couple of moose crossing the highway, nothing that noteworthy occurred.

After getting into the city where most of the childrens deaths had taken place (with there being only one or two exceptions, and those having happened out in the sticks), Dean quickly found a motel.

He would have liked to dive right into the case, however he'd developed a migraine that was beginning to churn his stomach.

Without a word, he'd parked the car and let Sam take care of the booking.

 

As they walked to their second level room, Sam gave his brother a worried look.

He was pale, a little sweaty, and was beginning to look pretty bad.

Dean wasn't the type to take ill, especially not within a matter of hours. Sam wondered if he'd come down with food poisoning from that restaurant meal. 

If it was, then Sam was glad that he'd chosen to have the meatloaf rather than the pork chops.

After letting them into room #42, Sam watched as Dean promptly sat on the bed for a moment before leaning to the side and slowly melting onto the bed as though he had no spine at all.

Dean was obviously not well at all, not that Sam would get any other reply but an 'I'm fine' from his brother if there had been any inquiry as to his state.

Sam sighed, as Dean began to slip into slumber, making his way over and placing Dean's legs on the bed.

He noted the keys to the Impala next to Dean's left hip, and Sam chose to take them.

He scrawled a quick note on the pad of yellow paper that sat on the bedside table, informing Dean that he'd be back soon and to please stay put.

Sam then quietly left, locking up behind him, and headed back to the car.

 

 

Meanwhile, at Northcutt Mall, an expectant beaming couple posed alongside Santa Claus; the very pregnant woman held a decorated and handwritten sign that said 'Baby's First Christmas' on it, while the other mother-to-be pointed at the protruding belly with a look of pure delight on her face.

After the photo had been taken, the couple thanked the mall santa, and he chuckled warmly before patting the protruding belly and heartily congratulating them both.

The ladies thanked him once again, wishing him a Merry Christmas, and began moving along to begin their holiday shopping.

As the pregnant woman and her love clasped hands, looking at a shimmering window display of silver and gold chain necklaces, something suddenly felt... Wrong.

A sharp pain sliced through the pregnant woman's abdomen, and she crumpled into a heap on the tiled floor.

"Amber! Oh, my gosh!" The other woman choked out, an icy terror striking her heart.

She pulled out her phone with shaking hands, doing her best to check on Amber and place a call for an ambulance while trying very hard to keep her head.

"I'm here, babe, it's going to be all right... I've got you." She dialled 911 as she cradled Amber as much as she could without moving her, her voice uneven and panicked as she spoke soothing words. "The baby's a bit early, but he'll be fine. It's going to be great, you'll see... Just remember to breathe, I'm calling for help right now."

Amber's breathing was ragged and she was in pure agony. She'd never before felt pain like this.

"Delia, something's not right." She managed in a wavering voice, feeling more afraid than ever.

Delia swallowed hard, as someone finally picked up on the other end.

"911, what's your emergency?" Came a nasal voice, and Delia gave a swift but accurate description of the event and their location. Not that she knew how she had managed to utter a single intelligible word with her mind beginning to go numb in her fear.

Amber let out a terrible cry, her skin blanching even further to the point where Casper would have looked as though he'd gotten a bit of sun.

Delia's eyes began to brim with tears as she watched the love of her life suffer like this, hoping that Amber was wrong and that everything would be okay.

She kissed the top of Amber's head, a tear dripping down to land on the mass of long, strawberry-blonde curls.

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen, I promise... We're going to be just great, you'll see." Delia vowed stubbornly, wondering if she was trying harder to convince Amber or herself.

The 911 operator was still on the line, trying to keep Delia talking to them, though the phone had been dropped as Delia held Amber in her arms.

By the time that the ambulance had arrived, it was too late; Amber had been dead for eight minutes and twenty-one seconds.

 

 

That same ambulance had rushed past the Impala on the road, as Sam pulled over to let the emergency vehicle go ahead.

He'd made a flabbergasted noise and gestured with his hands in annoyance as other drivers took their sweet time in moving over at all, while others simply maintained their speed and acted as though the ambulance wasn't even there.

One idiot even slowed in front of the ambulance before finally pulling over, the emergency vehicle blasting the loud horn in vain attempts to encourage the driver to make haste.

It was incredible how many times he'd witnessed similar situations.

How many people had died because some idiot wouldn't get out of the way? It wasn't as if the flashing lights, siren, and honking horn were easy to ignore. Nine times out of ten, it would have been safe and very much possible for such drivers to pull over straight away.

He shook his head in disgust, and drove another few blocks, before turning into the parking lot of a supermarket.

 

After parking the car, he took a brief moment to let his mind go blank.

Between Dean stressing out over the visions and nightmares, and their presence naturally unnerving Sam as well, the past while had been anything but easy.

Having a moment like this to himself, alone and temporarily feeling more or less normal (well, as normal as it could feel to be Sam Winchester) was something of a sweet relief.

Blowing out a breath, he stepped out of the car and stretched his long frame before locking the door and then shutting it.

The lot was as icy as a skating rink, and the frigid wind blasting through the city was one that hit straight to the core and kept you cold long after getting inside where it was warm.

It was the sort of day where it would have been perfect to cuddle up by a roaring fire with a mug of hot cocoa.

If they'd been back at the bunker, Sam would have done just that.

 

Inside, Sam took his coat off and folded it over his arm, grabbing a shopping basket as he began to browse.

His hair was mussed, his nose and cheeks pink from the cold, and he was wishing he'd worn a heavier coat.

He would have liked to enjoy a nice, steaming latte to take the edge off of the chill, but there wasn't a coffee shop nearby.

Instead, the first thing he'd picked up was a box of hot chocolate, before deciding on marshmallows as well.

Sam had always been partial to the miniature ones, however as Dean was ill and preferred the extra large campfire style ones, Sam plunked a bag of the big ones in the basket.

From there, he'd gotten some crystallised ginger, a box of peppermint tea, and some fresh fruit and vegetables.

The checkout lanes were a bit longer than he'd have liked, though thumbing through a magazine killed some time.

By the time he'd reached the till, Sam had learned how to make a proper french chignon, the best way to pick out a cantaloupe, and which herbs helped to relieve menstrual cramps.

"That comes to $27.63." The plump cashier announced with a fading Mandarin accent. "Unless, you want the magazine, too."

Sam put the magazine back, his cheeks a bit reddened, and pulled out his wallet to pay.

"Cash or credit?" The cashier asked as she checked him out unabashedly before giving him a little smile.

"Uh, cash." Sam answered, and passed two twenties to her.

The cashier gave him a playful wink and his change, wishing him a good afternoon and leaving Sam feeling a hint awkward.

 

 

Sam had opened the door to their room to find Dean laying in bed watching the news.

"Hey." Dean greeted thickly, the left side of his head throbbing painfully as though he'd been struck forcefully with a smooth rock.

"Hey. How're you holding up?" Sam asked quietly, setting the bags down on the counter  
near the sink.

He turned the overhead light on low, wanting to keep from aggravating Dean's migraine.

"Fine." Dean lied grumpily, as Sam had known that he would. "Now shut up and watch this, will ya?"

Sam knew that Dean wasn't trying to be a jerk. It just came so naturally to him.

He turned his attention to the convex 12" screen, and listened as the reporter went on about a woman who had died due to prenatal complications at a local mall.

There weren't many details, but a rather distinct one stood out clearly; the event had occurred directly after a visit to good ol' Saint Nick.

The reporter had taken a moment to talk to the mall santa before closing the segment, asking questions that would have better suited a fluff piece than the morbid story that it was.

Santa had gone on about how tragic the incident was, his tone and behaviour seeming genuinely upset.

Sam and Dean paid close attention, looking for anything that might tip them off as to whether this was their guy.

 

There seemed to be nothing special about this short, pasty, rotund man donning small, round glasses.

In fact, he was so mundane that he was quite nearly beyond ordinary.

"Well, at least we've got a starting point to look forward to tomorrow." Dean said, thinking that they'd hit the morgue first thing in the morning.

He'd been through worse, and would get through it one way or another if the migraine stuck through the night and into the next day.

Still, with any luck, he'd be back to his normal self by breakfast.

"If you're still feeling like crap tomorrow, I can handle things myself." Sam told him, earning a dirty look. 

"It's only a headache, I just need some sleep." Dean told his brother stubbornly, looking to the bags. "So, what've you got? Anything decent, or is it the usual rabbit food?"

Sam began unpacking the bags, leaving the hot chocolate and marshmallows for last.

Dean eyed the marshmallows a bit greedily. "But, you hate the jumbos." He pointed out, feeling a bit touched that Sam had been so thoughtful.

"Yeah, well..." Sam began, shrugging it off. "Next time, we're having the minis." 

Dean grinned lopsidedly.

For as long as he could remember, whenever Sam had been sick and he'd been able to, he'd made hot chocolate with marshmallows for his brother.

And, once Sam had been old enough to do the same, he had reciprocated and returned the favour.

Now, any time one brother was unwell, the other would nearly always prepare a comforting mug of sweet hot chocolate.

"Awesome." Dean replied with a yawn, turning off the tv and rubbing his fevered eyes as Sam began preparing the beverage.

 

 

The next morning, Dean felt much better; there was still a slight remnant of the dull ache that had ravaged the left side of his head, but it was nothing in comparison.

They'd eaten the free continental breakfast offered with the room rental, changed into their typical suits, and made their way to the morgue.

Access to the pregnant woman's corpse had been easy enough to gain, and they'd set about to work.

A quick examination proved to find very little information; while the unborn child had, in fact, exploded, there was no evidence of the supernatural to explain it.

Not that there was any doubt that it had been something unnatural that had caused such a terrible thing to happen.

The doctors had been baffled, as the morgue attendant had been, as to what on earth could have happened to the poor woman.

Once the attendant had stepped back into the room, Dean told him that they'd be in touch before leaving with Sam a step behind.

 

"Well, that was weird." Dean said from behind the wheel, starting the car. "I mean, there's nothing... No marks, no hint of a strange smell, nothing."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, buckling his seat belt.

 

As Dean drove to the new widow's house, Sam tried to think what might have done something like that.

It didn't fit with the other incidences; the murdered children before this unborn child had all been intact.

If it was the same thing that had killed all of them, it was very odd that such a violent end had been chosen for the unborn boy.

Dean pulled up to a picturesque little house that was straight out of a children's storybook; a vintage two story Southern style home, painted robin egg blue and cream, with a quaint cobblestone footpath leading up to the house.

As the boys began walking up to the short, white picket fence, a West Highland Terrier rushed from its spot beneath the bench on the porch and yapped fervently at them.

"Just great..." Dean groaned, giving the rather vocal little dog a frown as it snarled territorily. "I hate these small dogs. All they do is yap and whizz all over the place."

Sam raised a brow, and shushed the dog.

It actually quieted down a touch. Sam looked slightly past the dog, not making eye contact, and knelt down.

The dog watched him curiously, its barking halted momentarily as it considered Sam's actions.

"Hey, there, buddy." Sam tried softly, offering a hand flat against the fence.

The dog sniffed cautiously, before licking at Sam's palm.

"See?" Sam told Dean, who didn't look too impressed. "You just need to know how to act around them is all."

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, any time you're finished with the whole dog whispering thing, maybe you could help me ask Lassie's owner a couple of questions." He retorted, as a short woman with dark hair that hung just below her shoulders came around the house from her garden.

Her eyes were puffy and red, and she looked perfectly miserable. Which was, of course, to be expected.

Sam felt sorry for her, knowing exactly how it felt to lose the love of your life. He could only imagine how much more difficult it was to lose the woman you loved as well as your unborn child.

"Good morning, we're very sorry to bother you, Miss McKeever." Sam began getting out his FBI badge, as Dean did the same. "I'm Agent Marx, this is my partner Agent Wallace." 

They showed her their credentials, and it was obvious that she was regretting coming to check out what her dog had been making such a fuss over.

"Look, this really isn't a good time right now..." She told them feebly, her grief causing her physical pain on top of the emotional.

"I promise we'll only take up a few minutes of your time." Sam reassured her, and Dean nodded.

Delia sighed, and opened the gate, gesturing for them to follow her.

The westie didn't leave its mistress' side, keeping pace with her as she walked them into the den.

There were many photographs of Amber and Delia together, smiling and having a wonderful time at numerous locales.

By the backgrounds in the photos, it was evident that they had done a lot of traveling.

Delia invited them to sit down on the white mock leather sofa, and offered them vegan cookies from a tin that lay on the coffee table.

They politely declined.

"Smart move." Delia replied flatly. "I think that soggy cardboard might have more flavour. Still, it was nice of the neighbours to give them to me."

Dean paused for a moment, before asking a few basic questions.

Delia had answered as best she could, wondering a bit at being asked about cold spots in the house.

Sam had asked a couple of questions in regards to the time spent at the mall, including the visit with santa.

"We hadn't been there long. Amber and I had only gone to the engraving shop on the second level to pick up a gift for her mother." Delia sniffed, her voice thick. She had to take a moment before continuing. "After that, I had thought that it would be cute to have a picture taken with Santa. You know, 'baby's first Christmas'. So, I quickly got a piece of cardboard and borrowed a permanant marker, decorated it a bit, and we went to have the photo done."

Delia let out a shaky sigh.

"The rest is in the report that the police already took." She finished, the idea of having to go over all of that again making her feel sick to her stomach.

"I'm afraid we're going to need a direct account from you." Sam prompted gently, feeling compassionate but needing to do his job. 

They had already gone over the report, however the policeman who had taken down the report had done a very poor job of it and much of it was illegible.

And, since that policeman had gone on holiday as of his ending shift the previous night and was currently on a flight to Wales, they would need a personal telling of the events.

Delia looked at them both pleadingly. "Please..." Her voice was soft and low, full of sorrow.

"We're sorry." Dean told her honestly, his eyes kinder with these words.

This tended to be one of the more difficult parts of being a hunter; dealing with the victims left behind, the ones plagued with grief and mourning. It was tough.

And, it was one of those things that one didn't simply get over as time went on.

 

Delia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to delve back into that memory.

 

She retold the story for Sam and Dean, her heart breaking a little more with each word.

 

By the end, she was sobbing into her hands, her dog in her lap and attempting to comfort her by lapping at her tears.

Sam offered her a tissue once she was able to take her hands away from her face, the tears stinging her sore eyes.

Delia took the tissue, dabbing at her eyes before blowing her nose.

"Thank-you for your time." He said apologetically. "If you think of anything else, please give us a call." He handed her a card with their number printed on it.

Delia could only nod wordlessly, before seeing them out of the house.

 

 

From that visit, Sam and Dean felt more convinced that it must have been santa.

"So, I'm thinkin', whatever he's doing, it's got to be through touch." Dean said decisively from behind the wheel as they headed to the Northcutt Mall. 

Sam agreed.

Killings could vary, of course, but it wasn't all too often that they ran across anything that tended to kill in more that one usual way, more or less out of habit. 

And, since no strange stares or looks from the mall santa had taken Delia's notice, no tingles or chills, no sudden odours, nothing that would indicate anything supernatural in that vein, then it stood to reason that whatever had been done, it had been done when santa had touched Amber's belly.

Neither brother was feeling confident that he might know what it was that they were on the tail of. It was an unusual case, and while it seemed straightforward enough, they both knew better than to assume it would be easy.

"According to the police report, our santa is some guy by the name Jeff Gulbraith." Sam reminded Dean, who nodded.

"Jeff Gulbraith, gotcha." Dean repeated, suddenly having a craving for a candy cane as they went past a sweet store's display window.

 

 

"And, what would you like for Christmas, young man?" Gulbraith, decked out in the usual santa duds, asked a small blonde boy in his lap.

The child toyed with his hands, smiling shyly up at the man as he considered this question.

"I want a microscope." He answered decisively, looking pleased with himself.

"Ho, ho! Wouldn't you prefer a teddy bear, or a toy train?" Gulbraith asked cheerily, bouncing the boy on his knee with each 'ho'. "Microscopes are for big boys!"

The boy sagged, his eyes going sad. "I am a big boy." He told the man, sniffing. "Please, Santa, I want a microscope for Christmas."

Gulbraith ho-ho'd once again. "We-hell, we'll see!" He said, before the picture was snapped and the lad left with his mother, who gave him a bit of a dirty look for ruining what was supposed to be something special for her boy.

It was then that Sam and Dean strolled up to him.

"Ho, ho, ho, and what can I do for you, then?" Gulbraith asked, his voice dripping with false holiday cheer as he beamed up at them from the overstuffed chair.

"We've got a few questions for you." Dean replied, taking a moment to scrutinise the 'North Pole' for anything remotely unusual. "About the pregnant woman that came by for a photo on Thursday." With that, he showed Saint Nick his badge.

Gulbraith's face turned dark. "Not around the kids, bucko." He stated in a sharp whisper, getting to his feet.

He let the girl in charge of photography know that there would be a twenty minute break starting then, and she gave the announcement to the line-up of waiting children and impatient parents.

 

"Whattaya wanna do, upset all those kids at Christmastime or somethin'?" Gulbraith asked, switching from santa mode back to his own self.

"Sit down." Dean told him, not liking the man very much.

The bad acting was getting on his nerves.

The man plopped down on the chair in the security office, Sam having arranged their use of the room.

"Good, now Amber Wakowski and her girlfriend had come by on Thursday. Almost immediately after leaving santaland -"

Gulbraith stuck his finger in the air. "The North Pole." He corrected annoyingly, very nearly sounding indignant.

"Whatever." Dean replied, not caring in the lease what the place was called. "They left, and right after, the baby combusts in the womb and Amber's dead."

Gulbraith shrugged. "Okay, it's sad, but what does that have to do with me, exactly?" His voice had changed in tone, though it was subtle.

Sam splashed him with holy water, wanting things to move along.

Nothing happened, other than Gulbraith's offended sputtering.

"I'm sure that's up to protocol, that little move right there." He grumbled. "Real mature, Jolly Green."

It was then that Dean noted the ring around Gulbraith's right middle finger; it was obviously made of silver.

Gulbraith sighed.

"Look, if I'm not under arrest, I think I'll be getting back to work now." He stated dryly, getting to his feet. "It's too bad about all those kids, especially around the holidays, but I've got better things to do than put up with this."

Dean put a hand on the man' chest, stilling his gait. "Except that the only one who mentioned 'all those kids' was you." He pointed out, daring the man to try and pull something.

In fact, Dean half-hoped that he would. He'd been having a rough time and would have relished the chance to let off some steam with a good fight.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he brought out his cuffs and easily restrained the man, who wasn't struggling at all. 

He gave a single nod to Sam, and with that they headed out of the office with Gulbraith in tow.

It was shortly after that they had wished they'd used another way out of the mall, as they had passed straight by the North Pole.

The kids had naturally noticed Santa Claus being lead away in handcuffs, and had understandably become terribly upset.

 

 

They'd taken him to an abandoned warehouse that they'd passed earlier, having bound him to a chair taken from one of the offices in the dusty building, and began questioning him in earnest.

It was quite cold inside the place, their breath coming out in thick white puffs. They hoped that it wouldn't take very long to get this over and done with.

Not that Gulbraith seemed to be affected by the cold; his thin costume would not have afforded him much warmth, yet despite this he wasn't shivering or showing any signs of being chilly at all.

Gulbraith was being more or less neutral in his manner; he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

Still, that didn't mean that he was being helpful with his answers, when he chose to provide them.

"You and I both know you're in this, that you've had something to do with those kids." Sam stated, keeping his tone level.

He crossed his arms against his chest, as Dean took a step forward.

Gulbraith began to chuckle, his thin lips forming into a particularly nasty grin around his snaggled and yellow tinged teeth.

"And, what is it that you want from me, a confession? What's that going to give you?" He asked, finding them more or less amusing. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, you miserable punks."

Dean stuck his tongue in his cheek, shaking his head a bit. "And, who are you, exactly?" He asked, the urge to whack him one across the head growing. "Oh, wait, don't tell me... Kris Kringle?"

"Oh, ho, ho, ho." Gulbraith replied with a sneer, looking bored.

Sam noticed something about Gulbraith's skin, realising that they must have overlooked the detail by dismissing it as a part of the santa costume.

He gestured to Dean with his head, and they took a moment away from their detainee.

"His skin, it shimmers." Sam said quietly, and Dean raised his brows.

"Yeah, so? It's part of his little gimmick." Dean wondered what Sam was on about.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so, Dean." He said, his brother glancing over to Gulbraith. "Even the skin on his lower arms sparkles. There'd be no point in applying anything like that anywhere but his face and maybe his hands."

Dean looked at the exposed flesh of Gulbraith's arms, the sleeves of his coat having ridden up from the rope binding him to the chair.

"Okay, good point." He agreed, not able to make a connection between shimmery skin and anything that they'd dealt with in the past. "What does that make him, then?"

Sam shrugged. "You're guess is as good as mine." He answered, working on a search on his mobile with nothing useful turning up thus far.

"It's a start; you keep researching and I'll keep working on jolly old over there." Dean suggested, heading back to Gulbraith.

 

Sam pored over numerous articles, nearly an hour and a half passing before finding what must have been the answer.

Gulbraith's shimmering skin, his rosy red cheeks and nose, his voluminous curly white beard and hair, his seeming immunity to the cold, combined with the ability to suck life from children, it all confirmed who he truly must have been.

"Dean." Sam called, knowing that Dean would find his conclusion far-fetched. Not that he'd be able to blame his brother; it was a tough answer to wrap one's head around.

"Yeah, what's up?" Dean asked after walking the ten feet or so over to where Sam was leaning against the cold concrete of a crumbling wall.

Sam looked nearly embarrassed.

"You're not going to believe this, but hear me out first, okay?" Sam requested, and Dean cocked his head to the side. This ought to be good.

"All right, so, according to legend, Santa Claus has a brother. But, he's much lesser known and was written off for good by his family for 'dark acts'. Nobody can seem to agree what those acts were, but that they were committed by this brother." Sam began, as Dean shoved his hands in his back pockets and listened as his brother continued on with this odd little legend.

"He, like his Santa Claus, goes by a multitude of names amongst his followers." Sam went on, and Dean blinked, licking his lips.

"Followers?" Dean repeated, and Sam confirmed this.

"Yeah, he has something of a cult following, mainly in Romania and certain rural areas in Ireland and France." Sam referred to the most recent article that he'd read. "Most worship him to keep their children alive, building shrines, praying to him, celebrating a day in his honor on November 27th. Others hope to join him and attain immortality, sacrificing children in his name as offerings."

Dean shook his head.

"So, Virginia, you're telling me there is a Santa Claus?" He made a noise in his throat. "Not only that, but that Santa's evil brother goes around suckin' the life out of kids around the world?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of things." He sighed. "I told you that you wouldn't believe it."

Dean gave a short laugh. "Man, we've seen some crap in our lives, but this might just take the cake." He looked over to Gulbraith, who was staring at them in mild interest.

"All right, so what's this dude capable of?" Dean asked, and Sam really didn't have much of an answer for him.

"No clue." He replied with a shrug. "I've already told you basically everything I could find out."

"Great." Dean half-grumbled.

For all they knew, this guy could wipe them off the map with a finger alongside his nose.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" Dean asked, making his way back to Gulbraith with Sam a step behind.

Gulbraith gazed up at them both curiously.

Not a single human had ever cottoned on to who he really was before, let alone capture him.

He was going to play this out, see where it went.

After all, he was immortal. He didn't see any way that they'd be able to truly maim or kill him. Especially with the sheer power of each stolen life that was coursing throughout his body.

Then again, no such attempt had been made before. Perhaps he could die.

He'd been around for such a long time, was rather ancient. Gulbraith had taken it for granted that his life had turned out to be quite a long one. Such a long life, in fact, that he'd tired of it long ago. 

He began to realise that he didn't very much care how this turned out.

 

"Why do you kill?" Dean had suddenly asked, not sure what had prompted him to ask the question.

Dean looked at him seriously, a part of him wanting to understand why anything would do such horrendous things to innocent people, and another part wanting to never understand it.

Gulbraith smiled bitterly.

"I'm sure you wouldn't understand." He stated, his voice soft. "Still, you did ask and I will oblige you; each time I take a fresh, new life into myself, I bear the privilege of witnessing each and every turn that life could have taken instantaneously. It's incredible... I suppose one could compare it to one of the strongest drugs that you mortals poison your bodies with."

Gulbraith said this last bit with utter distaste. "Beyond that, I can feel their energies with me always. It's comforting, as my life is terribly solitary."

Dean should have known that he wouldn't be content with any response he would have recieved.

He believed that the only life anyone ought to take was that of monsters; of demons, vampires, werewolves, skinchangers. Those who were murderous and/or evil. To kill them was to protect the innocent, or at least the less evil.

These days, it seemed more and more to Dean that humanity was beyond saving; that it was inherently evil at the core, dangerously lurking beneath any goodness that might exist.

Still, he would continue to try to protect people as long as he still drew breath.

Dean scoffed at Gulbraith's answer, feeling deep disdain for him.

Sam watched carefully, noting that Dean seemed to be getting drawn further into the situation, almost as though there were a vague conection between Dean and Gulbraith.

Gulbraith was making intense eye contact, which Dean was maintaining.

"Dean." Sam tried to get his brother's attention, not that it was any use.

"We are not so different, are we, Dean?" Gulbraith asked gently.

Dean remained silent, as Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

He stayed unresponsive.

"What the hell have you done to my brother?" Sam demanded threateningly to Gulbraith, clenching his fists in anger.

"Hush, now, Sam." Gulbraith turned his stare to the younger Winchester, calming him effortlessly.

"No, but -" Sam strived to maintain control as a thick sort of fog rolled through his mind, a strange bliss tingling all over him.

"That's better." Gulbraith told him in a rolling sort of low rumble, instructing Sam to unbind him.

Sam did as he was commanded, and Gulbraith stood up and stretched his short, pudgy arms.

"You think that I'm a monster... Bah, do you have any idea what it's like to be Saint Nicholas' little brother?!" He practically shouted, scorching rage in his voice. "I could never measure up. Mother and father, they always found me to fall short when compared with that wretched pipsqueak."

Gulbraith stomped his foot. "As if anyone could ever compare with that..." He growled, his anger growing dangerously as he vainly attempted to find an insult that fit. "They were always telling me how bad I was, treating me like some kind of deliquent!"

He spat on the ground, his face contorted into a mask of madness. "It was their fault I turned out like this; they treated me like a monster, and so I became one. As anybody would."

Gulbraith's jaw clenched. "I was meant to have another brother, did you know that?" He asked, remembering the first truly evil deed he'd performed. "Oh, yes. Another precious sibling... Yosef was his name. He was the reason I had initially learnt that I posessed such great powers."

Sam and Dean stood there silently, hearing every word but still in that bizarre state of contentment that nothing they heard would break, not until Gulbraith reversed what he'd done.

"I remember mother and father had introduced him to Nicholas and I, and before long they had settled him into his crib in the nursery. I had found myself loathing the infant upon meeting him. I had glared at him, envisioning his death. He began to cry, and I reached out to touch him, thinking that he would shut up if I attempted to comfort him physically. It was then that Yosef's life flooded into my body. Within a matter of days, I had found a young girl playing by the frozen pond, and I tried doing the same trick again. It had worked."

Gulbraith's bitter tone continued on as he recalled his beginnings, having gone such a long time since thinking about them.

"From there, I continued on, being careful not to get caught. Of course, it was inevitable that it would happen someday, and it was my luck that Nicholas and our father had spied it all. It was then that I was cast out."

"And, when you had begun garnering followers for yourself, David." Came a deep voice from behind Gulbraith.

Gulbraith turned to find a rather rumpled looking man with short dark hair and blue eyes wearing a trenchcoat and blue tie.

The fact that this stranger that had emerged from the shadows knew his name, which only his brother and parents should know in this day and age, was unsettling.

He didn't like this at all, and became enraged.

Gulbraith gathered all of his strength and focused on creating the image of this man's demise in his mind, coming forth to touch him.

"I would not do that, David." The trenchcoat wearing stranger advised, not budging from where he stood.

Gulbraith chose to not heed this warning, and with a ferocious snarl, he pressed the flat of his right hand against the other man's heart.

All of that evil energy that Gulbraith had conjured up had promptly backfired and struck him instead, causing his immediate death.

Gulbraith had fallen heavily to the ground, as the fog began to lift from Sam and Dean's minds.

It was a short while before the boys were back to reality enough to even function somewhat normally.

Dean squinted at their hero, still a touch fuzzy. "Cas?"

Castiel stepped over to him, a barely perceptible smile on his dry lips.

He touched Sam and Dean with his index fingers, taking them home to the bunker.

 

 

A few hours later, the boys were fully back to normal, and Castiel had explained how he'd found them.

"You're fortunate to have survived such an encounter; David Claus had far more power than even he could have realised. He would have been able to make the hearts of a hundred grown men stop within an instant had he concentrated enough." Castiel told them as they sat on the sofa in the den, standing in the middle of the room. "As he was a scatterbrained and dumb individual, he never did realise his full evil potential. Many innocents have been spared because of that."

"Well, thanks for coming to the rescue." Sam told Castiel, who gave a nod.

"I was glad to be of help." Castiel replied. "Santa will be relieved to hear that the children are safe now."

Dean still found it difficult to believe there was a Santa Claus.

"What, so you and Big Red are pals or something?" Dean asked, and Castiel gave him his usual patient look.

"I wouldn't classify our relationship as friendship, Dean. We have met only a handful of times, and he had expressed concern in regards to his brother's activities." Castiel answered, noting the distinct lack of holiday decoration. There wasn't even a small nativity scene in sight.

Of course, this was the Winchesters, and while they celebrated Christ's birth in their own ways, they quite rarely had the sort of holiday most would expect.

"What?" Dean asked, noticing the look on Castiel's face. It was one of vague disappointment.

"It is nothing of import." Castiel responded, earning himself an annoyed look from Dean.

"Come on, Cas, spill it." Sam encouraged, and the angel relented.

"It's only that you both rarely have a true celebration of Christmas; no reading from the Bible, no decorations, no baking of traditional goods... Christmas is an event to be cherished, and you treat it as nearly any other day." Castiel found this to be saddening.

Christmas was something that was a human experience, and he'd never had the joy of taking part. That Sam and Dean had the opportunity to do so each and every year, but chose to forgo celebrations was not a thing that Castiel understood.

"You want us to go get a tree, deck the halls and all that?" Dean asked, wondering why this seemed so important to Castiel, who seemed nearly wistful.

"Wouldn't that make you happy?" Castiel inquired.

Christmas was a time to be happy, to rejoice and be thankful for everything that God has done.

Dean didn't know what to say.

The last time that they'd had a real Christmas was... Well, never, to be honest.

They'd had a tree before, and exchanged gifts, but it hadn't felt like what Christmas was chalked up to be.

And, that had been back when they were kids.

"I don't know, man." Dean decided, crossing his legs.

"Maybe Cas is right." Sam piped up, having considered the idea.

He'd always wanted to have an honest to goodness Christmas, with all the decorations and special meals, to have that one amazing day where everything was supposed to be perfect and peaceful.

Dean shrugged. "Okay, then, so we'll have Christmas this year."

Castiel smiled, and promptly disappeared.

 

 

Castiel stayed away until late on Christmas Eve, when he'd returned to find the bunker quiet.

Sam and Dean were asleep, and he found a Christmas tree set up in the middle of the den.

Christmas lights had been strung about the place, and a few gifts were beneath the tall pine.

Castiel took this time to do his best to make this a Christmas to be remembered; he had added some tinsel garland and faerie lights to the den and the dining room, placed a shining star on the top of the tree where there had been none, had stashed messily wrapped gifts from himself beneath the tree, and had put some special groceries for the next day away.

Soon after he'd finished his work, Santa Claus arrived for the first time since the boys were in the care of both their mother and father.

He would have visited more often, however there were certain sigils that the boys had been protected with since little on thanks to their father, John.

Castiel had been sure to remove those from the premisis just for Christmas Eve, to permit Santa entrance.

And, Santa had tried to make up for all of the Christmases that he'd missed, leaving them wonderful things in brand new stockings that he carefully hung on the mantle, and many beautifully wrapped gifts.

"Thank-you, Jeff." Castiel told the man in the red and white suit, having permission to call him by his birth name.

Santa was more or less a title than a name, though most people don't seem to know that.

 

After Santa had left to continue on his long journey around the globe, Castiel sat on the sofa to await dawn.

He rarely slept now that he had regained his grace and true angel status, and so he'd spent this time reading a book that someone had lost on the ground.

It had captured his interest, and as he read about hobbits, dwarves, and a ferocious dragon, time began to pass.

Castiel had finished the novel a couple of hours before Sam and Dean would awaken, and so he decided to begin thinking about making breakfast.

He wasn't terribly skilled in the kitchen, but he'd heard a few times that love was the most important ingredient, and Castiel had an abundance of that.

Therefore, whatever he cooked ought to be passable at the very least.

Not that he knew what would make a good Christmas breakfast; that was something that differed greatly from family to family, and even more so from place to place.

In the end, he'd tried to make red and green waffles, with homemade cinnamon ice cream.

The ice cream had turned out very hard, and the waffle batter seemed a bit too runny.

Still, he made do; the waffles turned out looking different than ones he'd seen before, though the ice cream seemed all right.

 

The smell of food cooking had coaxed the boys from their winter slumber, and they got out of bed.

Stomachs rumbling, they went straight to the kitchen to see what it was that Castiel must have made.

The kitchen was empty, though the dining room was lit and brightly decorated with lovely things that they'd never before seen.

The table held their morning meal, which appeared a bit messy but definitely edible.

Castiel waited for them to sit down, before saying grace, and the boys tasted his efforts.

Castiel would have liked to join them, but his sense of taste was far too honed and he was unable to stomach food.

Which was regrettable, since he had so enjoyed eating when he was human.

Dean licked a bit of melted ice cream from his upper lip. "This is great, thanks!" He complimented Castiel, who seemed satisfied.

Sam agreed, taking a big bite.

 

After breakfast, Castiel watched as Sam and Dean registered surprise at the amount of gifts beneath the Christmas tree.

There was a hint of pure and unadulterated childish delight as they unwrapped the parcels, and Castiel relished their joy.

To see them this happy was a rarity, and he cherished every moment.

When they had unwrapped the ones from Castiel, he was glad to find that his gifts were appreciated.

He had chosen a tiger's tooth on a string as a necklace for Sam, something that he'd wanted as a boy after reading about tigers in the second grade.

And, for Dean, he'd managed to give a leather jacket that had been owned by Mick Jagger.

There were other gifts that he'd given, but these were the boys' absolute favourites.

To Castiel's surprise, they'd each given him something as well, as had Santa.

Santa had brought a journal filled with updates on his vessel's daughter Claire, and Dean had given him a silver tie clip with a pair of detailed angel wings on it.

Sam's gift was one that he'd been unsure about, but after discussing it with Dean, decided to go for it.

"Hang on a second, I'll be right back." Sam told Castiel, after all of the other presents had been handed out and unwrapped.

He'd come back with a large box decorated with festive 70's style wrapping paper and a big red bow on top.

Castiel felt the urge to shake the gift, as he knew many humans liked to, and was about to when Sam realised that and quickly told him not to.

"Trust me, just open it." Sam encouraged, and Castiel listened.

He wished that he'd shaken one of his other gifts, since it seemed like an enjoyable practice.

He undid the bow, tore the wrapping paper, and unfolded the flaps of the cardboard box, revealing a wholly unexpected gift.

Castiel had no idea how to react.

It wasn't as though it was a bad gift at all. In fact, the gesture had warmed his heart.

"You don't have to keep it if you don't like it." Sam said, feeling as if he must have made a mistake.

Castiel stared at the box's contents a moment longer, before reaching in and gingerly lifting out a small puppy.

The mutt wagged its tail contentedly, immediately liking Castiel very much.

Castiel liked the pup in return, wanting to keep it.

He'd always had a liking for dogs, the loyalty and unconditional love being traits that he could appreciate.

But, he knew that a dog's life was short. As it was, he was watching his two best friends lives go on, and soon enough those lives would be spent.

To grow so fond of a dog and be able to keep that friend for such a brief time was an awful thought.

Still, he found himself unable to do anything but accept this small bundle of love from Sam.

Therefore, Castiel came to a decision to share a small portion of his grace with the creature, granting it an immortal life so that it would never have to leave his side, and would be protected against threats it might come across from being with him.

"What are you going to call her?" Sam asked, smiling at the way that Castiel was cradling the now sleeping puppy.

Castiel blinked.

"Oh, yes, I suppose that a name is in order." He said, not having considered the notion. "Let's see... I may as well call her after the dog star. Yes, Sirius it is."

Dean felt this to be a fitting name. "Not bad." He told Castiel, who grinned at him.

"Looks like you outdid me, Sammy." Dean remarked, not that it bothered him. It was just nice to see Castiel like this. 

Sam hadn't meant to outshine anyone, he'd only wanted to give Castiel a true gift from the heart. "Sorry..." He apologised, and Dean waved the apology away and put an arm around his brother.

"Merry Christmas, Sam." Castiel said, the Christmas spirit in the air tangible. "Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Merry Christmas, Cas." The boys returned in unison.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise this work is not up to snuff, and for that I apologise; I try to put out a Christmas story for each of my main fandoms each year, but things have been really rough for me lately and so this may be all that I can offer this year. 
> 
> Whatever you celebrate, please have a wonderful holiday and stay safe! Take the time to relish this precious time with your family and loved ones; create many happy memories and show your love! Take care, lovelies.


End file.
